


Both the Sweet and the Bitter

by chloe_amethyst



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloe_amethyst/pseuds/chloe_amethyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond finds himself at the beginning of a new age feeling bereft and dwelling on the past. Will Thranduil help him to find the light again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both the Sweet and the Bitter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neiroel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neiroel/gifts).



> Written for Neiroel for the My Slashy Valentine 2016 swap. Hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> Beta and encouragement by Erviniae the Exceptional! All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Feedback always welcome. Please comment.

Both the Sweet and the Bitter

 _“For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him when he departs to the Havens: for mine is the choice of Luthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter.”_ \--J.R.R. Tolkien

Midsummer’s day in Gondor had dawned hot and oppressively humid. Elrond had spent the day of his daughter’s wedding sweltering under his robes through the festivities. Now, as night had fallen, his rooms were still too warm despite the balcony doors being wide open. No gentle breeze blew in to cool him, nor did any nightingale’s song drift in to soothe Elrond’s mind. The cheers, laughter, and music of raucous wedding guests still drinking and dancing late into the night, drifted up on the air to invade his chamber and deprive him of rest.

The day had been long, full of the reenactment of nuptial customs of high born Men and Elves. Ambassadors and nobles attended from nearly every realm. Elrond had already spent an exhausting week meeting with most of them concerning alliances and rebuilding in order to aid his son-in-law in establishing his reign. As the wedding day came closer, he felt his heart beginning to sink and deep weariness taking hold of him.

At the feast, after Elrond had eaten his fill, made numerous toasts, and bestowed his blessings upon Arwen and Aragorn, he had excused himself early to seek solitude and to ease a pounding headache. Every shrill, heralding trumpet blast of the day made the ache sharper and seemed to deepen his melancholy. Elrond had no lingering resistance toward the marriage of his beloved daughter to the man Elrond had fostered and watched grow into his inheritance. In time, he had accepted their union as the fulfillment of Ilúvatar’s will, which he had no control over, nor should he. Elrond had done his best not to let his pounding head or sour mood cast any shadow over the day’s events. Having kept a smile on his face, and words of love for the newlyweds on his lips, no one was the wiser.

In the privacy of his rooms, Elrond changed from his heavy formal robes to a pearl grey tunic and breeches. He splashed his face with water from the wash pitcher and basin, stretched out on a divan near the balcony, took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Thoughts of the past came to him, of Elladan and Elrohir as elflings playing with wooden swords in the garden, and Celebrían braiding flowers into their fidgety daughter’s hair, imploring her to be still. He thought of a time much later, when a newly fatherless, dark-haired toddler came to Imladris with his grief-stricken mother, and Elrond had bestowed the name Estel upon him knowing he would be the last hope of his people. The child nearly turned Elrond’s household upside down with his insatiable curiosity and ability to escape his governesses. But every night, the boy would sit in rapt attention on Elrond’s lap, listening to the stories of old. Seeing Arwen and Aragorn joined together for their wedding, happy and at peace, filled Elrond with gratitude. Yet the sadness also lingered.

Elrond’s thoughts then reached further back in time, when he rode alongside Gil-galad to war in the Last Alliance. In that seemingly endless darkness, he had met the son of Oropher, Prince Thranduil, and they had become fast friends. Soon they became more than friends. Thranduil’s company was a light that Elrond desperately held onto, but Oropher fell as did Gil-galad, along with thousands of Elves and Men. Their grief combined with the heavy responsibility of taking up rule of their realms kept Elrond and Thranduil apart. They had not met again in the long years since, until this week when Thranduil arrived with his retinue to negotiate alliances and pay respects to the new King and Queen of Gondor. Elrond’s dealings with him had been formal and surrounded by advisors. There had been no opportunity to speak to Thranduil alone, and Thranduil had not sought out Elrond, so it appeared that the past was best left in the past. 

An unexpected knocking on his chamber door startled Elrond out of his reminiscing. Probably the chambermaid or his valet saw the light under his door and was checking to see if Elrond required anything. With a sigh, Elrond slowly rose from the divan and went to answer the wide, heavy door.

In the doorway were standing two tall Elves, outfitted in the uniforms of the Greenwood king’s guard. They both stood ramrod straight until they briefly, and in unison, bowed their heads in salute to Elrond.

“My Lord Elrond,” spoke the one on the left. “I wish to present to you His Majesty, Thranduil Son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, Sovereign of Greenwood the Great, Defender of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood...” Elrond rolled his eyes as the guard droned on with at least a half dozen additional titles.

“His Majesty requests audience with you, my Lord.” With that the two guards stepped back to stand on either side of the doorway. Their king stepped forward into Elrond’s chamber. Thranduil always did know how to make an entrance.

Thranduil stood before Elrond resplendent in his finest raiment. He wore a heavy, lapis blue robe that was embroidered with so much gold that Thranduil gleamed in the candlelight. Hanging from his neck on a wide-linked gold chain was a sapphire as large as a woman’s fist. Thranduil’s finely tipped ears were decorated with golden ear cuffs bearing smaller jewels, and the shining braids of hair that hung around them looked like the same pale silk that Elrond had found alluring so long ago. The braids were held back by the elaborate, woven gold circlet that sat upon Thranduil’s head. It intertwined like gilded vines as it wrapped around, and was accented by another gleaming jewel on his forehead. His face remained as smooth and finely sculpted as ever, and his wide-set, deep green eyes maintained the same intense gaze Elrond remembered.

“Good evening, Elrond. May I come in?” There was a hint of mischief in Thranduil’s smile.

“I believe you are already in, Thranduil. To what do I owe the honor of your presence? And please, do sit down.”

Thranduil pulled a bottle from inside his robe. “Only if you will share this with me--a bottle of my best vintage.” The other thing Thranduil always knew how to do was to make the finest wine in Arda.

Elrond smiled and quickly closed the door on the guards who looked as if they might enter right after their king.

“I will gladly share that with you. Please, sit.” Elrond pointed to a chair just across from the divan, but Thranduil sat on the divan and placed the bottle on a small side table. Elrond brought two crystal goblets and set them down. Thranduil uncorked, poured, and handed Elrond a glass before Elrond sat in the chair facing him.

“To old friends,” Thranduil toasted and held up his glass.

 Elrond raised an eyebrow before holding up his glass and taking a sip. “Do you always bring heavily armed guards to visit your friends?”

 “Generally, yes. It’s about image rather than actual threat. The Woodland folk see their king surrounded by guards at all times and know I am always safe and in command. Plus, these are strange times, and everyone has come to Gondor to carve their own piece of the pie now that the war is ended. One can never be too careful, Elrond.” Thranduil gazed pointedly at Elrond, who attended all negotiations accompanied only by bookish scribes and advisors.

 “If I lived as though I believed I might be assassinated at any minute, I should never have left Imladris,” Elrond replied. “Besides, everyone knows that Glorfindel is in the city. Not a hair on my head will come to harm as long as he is here. Even a fool fears Glorfindel’s retribution.”

 “Quite true,” Thranduil chuckled.

 “Thranduil, we’ve not seen each other in an age. Surely you’re not here only to express concern about my potential for assassination.”

 Thranduil looked away from Elrond for a moment and smiled, almost wistfully. “No, Elrond. I am not. The truth is...,” Thranduil paused as though searching through the air for the right words. “I’ve been, well, observing you this past week. You still have the skill and patience necessary to bring the bilious races of Arda into agreement with one another. It’s a skill I have little patience for but have always admired.” Elrond tipped his head in thanks. “It’s been such a hectic week,” Thranduil continued, “that I haven’t had a chance to speak with you privately. I hope I am not imposing upon you now.”

 Elrond thought for a moment before replying. “I had been seeking some peace in solitude earlier, but I am glad you are here now. Finding peace is a skill I am sorely lacking. And if I find it, it’s dark and draining rather than restorative.”

 “Is it Arwen’s marriage that troubles you? Her decision to stay in Arda?”

 “You mean her decision to die,” Elrond shot back before he calmed his tone. “Forgive me, Thranduil. I know I should not dwell on it, for Ilúvatar’s will has been done. My children have grown and made their own paths. They no longer need me. It’s time I got used to it.”

 “Your children will always need you, Elrond. Even if you are not with them, even as they rule kingdoms or start their own dynasties, they will always need you though they may not wish to admit it. Take my Legolas, for example. He flew the nest so very long ago, desperate to be the master of his own destiny and to change the world. Next thing I know he’s off on the most dangerous mission of his life trying to defeat Sauron. He wrote to me before leaving Imladris, full of pride, bravado, and optimism. After passing through Moria, he wrote to me again from Lothlórien, full of doubt and despair after Gandalf’s fall. But he also wrote that he would think upon me to boost his resolve and keep hopelessness at bay, because I had never given up hope despite all we had suffered. Your children are no different. Simply knowing you are there and giving them an example holds them up no matter the difficulties they face. We may not be able to change their fates, but they need us for as long as we have them.”

“You may be right,” Elrond replied.

“Of course I’m right. At least your daughter’s marriage will bring you grandchildren to look forward to and dote over. My son told me this week that he’s in love with the Dwarf.”

Elrond moved his hand to his mouth in an attempt to cover his grin. “Oh, dear. Well, Legolas could have done worse than choose the son of Glóin.”

“Yes, I suppose he could have married an orc.” Thranduil rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Elrond could not hold in his laughter. “Now, now, Thranduil. We must all put our prejudices behind us to keep the peace.”

Thranduil smiled and nodded, and then they both sat quietly for a time, sipping their wine and listening to the minstrels play on at the feast below them.

Thranduil was the first to break the silence. “Over the years I’ve often wondered about you and your life in Imladris, if you were happy, and if you ever thought of me and all that we shared.”

“Our lives have taken such different paths, Thranduil. We’ve both been duty-bound to our people since the day we were born, and our destinies were laid out before us. Why would it matter if I thought of you or if you thought of me? Nothing would ever have come of it.”

“I know. That is true,” Thranduil replied. “I certainly don’t deny it. Our lives would play out just as they did, at least until this point. But think about it, Elrond. We are living in a whole new world now. From my perspective, we are all, in a sense, re-made. Perhaps love can be re-made as well.”

“What are you getting at, Thranduil?”

“Sauron’s constant threat is defeated, the high king of Men rules once again in Gondor, and the peace that is germinating here will spread throughout Arda. Our centuries of dread, constant warfare to hold onto our lands, the losses our people suffered--it’s all coming to an end.” Thranduil leaned forward and looked intently into Elrond’s eyes. “Don’t you see, Elrond? It’s time for us to _live_ again, as we did when we were young. After these long years of living in the darkness, I want to step into the light. I think perhaps you want that, too.”

Elrond got up from his chair with haste, clasped his hands behind is back, and began pacing. “What makes you think that, Thranduil? Just how many bottles of your wine did you drink before coming here?

“Perhaps you never thought about me again after we parted, and I’m wrong. But as I said, I’ve been watching you since I arrived in Gondor. I’ve seen the many glances you’ve cast my way and how you tried to hide them when you caught me looking back. I saw a longing in your eyes when you looked at me.”

Elrond said nothing, but stopped in his tracks. Thranduil moved toward him.

“I also saw your despair,” Thranduil continued, “and the heaviness of heart that weighs on you still. Despair lingers in me, too, but it’s time to look past it. It’s time to search for something more. Perhaps we might find it in each other if there’s a spark left to rekindle.”

Elrond found he could neither speak nor move as he tried to comprehend what was happening. Thranduil stepped closer and closer, until Elrond could smell the spices he used to scent his hair. He remembered that scent from so long ago, and his senses awoke to it. Thranduil slipped his heavy robe off his shoulders and tossed it aside. He wore a thin tunic underneath, through which Elrond could see the outline of his slender, lithe body. Reaching down, Thranduil took Elrond’s hand and leaned in until their lips met.

The contact was light and soft, but inviting, as if Thranduil was testing whether Elrond would pull away. Elrond could not possibly have pulled away. The promise that the kiss held behind it could not be denied. Surprise and confusion turned to desire, and Elrond deepened the kiss until Thranduil softly moaned his appreciation. Elrond moved to kiss Thranduil’s long, elegant neck and under his jawline as Thranduil stretched to accommodate him. Then Thranduil removed his tunic, leaving the jewel dangling on his throat, and tugged on Elrond’s hand to bring him to the divan. He gently pushed Elrond down to sit and pulled Elrond’s own tunic off over his head. Thranduil stood gazing at Elrond for a moment with that mischievous gleam in his eye and a smile on his lips.

“What are you smiling at?” Elrond teased.

Thranduil bent down to kiss Elrond again. “Thinking of things to come,” he purred.

Putting a knee up on the divan on either side of Elrond, Thranduil straddled him and pressed their bodies together. The king reached down and untied the laces of Elrond’s breeches, freeing his erection. Next he untied his own and rose above Elrond to peel them completely off, then lowered himself down to teasingly rub up against Elrond’s hardness. Elrond closed his eyes and moaned.

Thranduil paused for a moment and moved again, then reached underneath them to take Elrond’s erection in hand. He rubbed slickness over the shaft while Elrond bit his own lip hoping not to explode from the sensation. Finally, Thranduil slowly but steadily lowered himself until Elrond’s hardness was fully inside him. There was a pause while Thranduil blew out several breaths, and then he began to move. Elrond moved with him, and the haste of their lovemaking was a testament to the pent up desire they had unleashed. Thranduil wrapped his arms around Elrond’s neck and raised his head up, panting hard and with his eyes closed. Elrond hands were on Thranduil’s hips holding him in place while Elrond pounded into him. With a deep groan, Elrond’s climax exploded deep inside Thranduil. A moment later, Thranduil found his release and ropes of cum splattered against Elrond’s chest. As they came down from their passion, they wrapped their arms around each other and held on tightly until their breathing slowed.

Eventually they moved to lie down together upon the divan, still wrapped in each other’s arms, their sweat cooling in the night air.

“Perhaps you are right,” Elrond whispered. “Perhaps we can finally step into the light.” Thranduil kissed him long and hard, and Elrond knew it was true.


End file.
